


calm before

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [9]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn't a routine, nothing David can count on, and maybe that's why time slips the way it does, sticky summer days and the echoing cool of the rink and Jake's fingers rough against David's jaw, why the end comes before David can get used to anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	calm before

There isn't a routine, exactly. Or there is, five days a week training, but they shake it up enough that David doesn't get used to it, throw in little field trips to the pool, a shitty outdoor rink, grass sprouting through cracks in the concrete for a ball hockey game. There isn't a routine outside of training either, but more often than not he's getting in Jake's car at the end of the day, until Jake's borrowed condo is more familiar than David's hotel room, until David could shut his eyes and know where everything is in the kitchen, has watched more stupid movies in the past few weeks than he had in the past year, has a mouth raw with stubble burn and knows the weight of Jake's cock on his tongue, the heat of his body around David when David's sinking into him on an off day, hand splayed between Jake's shoulder blades, feeling his muscles tense under David's fingers.

There isn't a routine, nothing David can count on, and maybe that's why time slips the way it does, sticky summer days and the echoing cool of the rink and Jake's fingers rough against David's jaw, why the end comes before David can get used to anything. 

*

It's been a long week, just a few days left until they wrap up, everyone ramping up accordingly, and the fatigue's set in, David feeling it. It’s not even five and his eyes are half shut as he waits for a cab, wondering if passing out when he gets back to his room will energize him the next day or just fuck with his internal clock.

Jake pulls up after a minute, rolls the window down. "Coming?" he asks, and David blinks tiredly at him.

"I'm tired," David says, "I'm just--"

"That's cool," Jake says. "It's not like--just whatever, come over anyway. I won't judge you if you fall asleep on me."

David gives him a sceptical look. 

"Promise," Jake says, "I'll wake you up if you fall asleep." and David sighs but lets Jake drive him back to the condo, lets Jake herd him into his room, even if that's a bad idea, David bone tired and not looking for anything, not that Jake tries, just puts some stupid reality TV show on his laptop, and David falls asleep less than halfway into the first episode.

He wakes up to a dark room and Jake draped over him, an arm and leg pinning David to the bed. It's impossible to tell what time it is, beyond late, since David can't get himself untangled from Jake's weight to check the time, and he settles after a moment, shuts his eyes, lets Jake's slow, even breathing, hot against his neck, lull him for a minute, until he's half asleep again, warm, drowsy. Until his heart clenches, hard, because this is the last shit he should be doing, has an early morning, like every morning, is in Toronto for a reason, and it has nothing to do with this bed. 

He tries to pry Jake's arm off, but he's even heavier in sleep, fingers curled in David's shirt and holding steady, so in the end David has to shove at his shoulder until he wakes up with a slurred "Whaa--" and then a blind kiss to David's neck. Isn't even awake and is already trying something. Probably doesn't even know who's in bed with him. David's jaw tightens, and he pushes Jake harder. 

"You said you'd wake me up," he says, tightly, and his eyes have adjusted enough that he can see Jake's eyes open, can watch him blink sleepily in David's direction.

"Sorry, dude," Jake says, through a yawn. "Just go back to sleep? I have shit that'll fit you."

"I have to go," David says, tight, and when Jake hums but doesn't move. "You have to get off me."

Jake sighs, but rolls off him, sitting up. "I'll drive you," he says.

"No," David says. "It's late. Go back to sleep."

" _You_ go back to sleep," Jake mumbles under his breath, and David ignores him, gets up, checking his phone and wincing. It's past one. He'll be lucky if he manages to sleep again at all tonight. 

Jake's still sitting up, watching him, fuzzy looking, and David nudges his shoulder, which makes him lie down again. 

"Want me to pick you up in the morning?" Jake asks through another yawn.

"Sure," David says. It's harder than it should be to walk out the door, calling a cab in the elevator, the slight chill of the night making him shiver in his t-shirt while he waits for it outside. The worst of it all is how much he wanted to stay. How much he wants to turn around and go back inside, crawl back into bed and let Jake sprawl all over him again. Instead he goes back to his hotel room, stares up at the ceiling until his eyes finally get heavy. He's tired and grumpy when Jake picks him up, snappish, but if Jake notices, he doesn't say anything about it. 

*

The last few days are less individualized routines, more of a standard training camp, the practice groups being trained like a team, since they've got the final game coming up, one that's going to be public, a chance to give Toronto kids starving for some hockey in the offseason a chance to watch professionals, the proceeds going to some local charity David isn't familiar with. They put Jake on David's wing, and he fits there, feels right there, seems to know what David's going to do, puts himself between David and anyone gunning for him in the half-friendly scrimmages they play against the opposing team in the lead up to the game.

Jake drives him in that final day, keeps glancing over at him until David wants to snap at him to keep his eyes on the road. "What're you up to when this is over?" Jake asks, finally.

David shrugs. "Going to New York."

"Not home?" Jake asks. 

David shrugs again, glances out the window. "Got to keep training," he says, finally.

"Yeah, but--" Jake says, before going quiet, and David keeps watching the city fly by.

"I'm going to text you, okay?" Jake blurts out, after a minute, and David looks over at him. Jake's finally watching the road, but his neck's gone pink. 

"Okay," David says, finally. 

"Okay," Jake repeats, and David watches him for another minute before he goes back to looking out the window.

*

They win the game 4-2, and the game winner’s a goal from Jake in the second, a pretty little top-shelf shot that isn’t really his style, will be an ugly new thing for goalies to face in the upcoming season, training camp clearly paying dividends. 

David should head back to his hotel room after the game, should pack, needs to be out for ten tomorrow morning if he doesn’t want to pay for another night, doesn’t want to change his flight, but when Jake raises his eyebrows at him, unsubtle, David just follows him back to his car, lets Jake drive him to the condo one last night.

“That was a pretty goal,” David says, quiet, when they’re a couple minutes out.

“Yeah?” Jake asks, slanting a grin at him. “You think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” David says. 

Jake’s grin doesn’t drop, just gets wider, as he says, “it gets you hot, doesn’t it?”

David can feel his cheeks heat. It does, is the thing, watching a pretty play, watching _Jake_ making a pretty play. Before this summer it burnt him up from the inside out, but not in a good way. He’d choke on it. Now he wants to choke on it, have his mouth stretched around Jake, unravel Jake so he can understand even a fraction of what David wants from him. David doesn’t even understand more than a fraction of what he wants from Jake, he just knows it’s too much.

Jake’s grin edges on cocky, smug, and it drives David crazy, not in a good way. “I want to blow you,” David gets out, voice even, though it wants to crack, and takes satisfaction in the way Jake’s smile drops right off, fingers clenching on the wheel.

“Yeah?” Jake asks. David doesn’t know if he’s imagining the car speeding up or not. Probably not, Jake’s not exactly a safe driver at the best of times, is pretty much the epitome of why teenage boys pay out the nose for car insurance.

“And then I want to fuck you,” David says, quiet, feels like his face is on fire, but it’s worth it, watching Jake’s face flush red, thinking of Jake driving back to Detroit tomorrow still feeling it.

“Yeah,” Jake says, unsteady. “Yeah, we can do that.”

*

David blows Jake in the front hall, and it’s like some weird deja vu, remembers feeling humiliated, furious, knees sore on the hardwood floor, trying to unbalance Jake as much as Jake effortlessly unbalanced him. This time there’s no real goal except to make Jake’s legs shake, to have his fingers clench in David’s hair, flood David’s mouth, salty sour. 

Jake’s back to halfway hard by the time David’s got two fingers in him, sprawled out on his bed, shorts shucked in the hall and his t-shirt shoved up his chest. David watches the muscles of his stomach jump when David’s fingers brush his prostrate, fascinated, until Jake grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him in for a kiss, makes noise into David’s mouth when David’s nudging a third finger in, Jake stretched tight around his knuckles.

David takes his time, despite the fact he wants Jake to shift in the driver’s seat tomorrow, feeling it, despite the fact his cock’s smearing the inside of his briefs with pre-come, balls drawn up tight, fingerfucks Jake until Jake’s as hard as David is, dripping onto his own belly, mumbling “c’mon, c’mon, _David_ ,” against David’s mouth until David can’t take it, pulls his fingers out, fumbling with a condom and trying not to look at Jake, feet planted on the bed, hole slick and open, because he’s afraid he’ll come before he can get inside him.

He doesn’t, but he doesn’t exactly last long either, near to tipping over the edge as soon as he’s pushing into the tight clutch of Jake, Jake’s fingers curling around his bicep, just shy of bruising, his mouth red and wet and half-open, looking used. David braces himself on one elbow, gets a hand around Jake where he’s nudging against David’s abs, and the only thing that keeps him from shooting in a minute flat is trying to make Jake come first, get him to clench tight around David’s cock, wrench the orgasm out of him. It feels like a blow, but in a good way, Jake’s eyes squeezed shut and every muscle of his body gone tense, the look on his face objectively stupid, but in a way David kind of likes, despite himself. David doesn’t last long after, comes with Jake shifting beneath him, oversensitive maybe, and Jake pulls him into a kiss after, which is mostly just David panting into his mouth until he comes down, and they kiss slow and easy until David starts going soft in Jake, has to pull out, tying off the condom before lying down beside Jake.

“High five,” Jake says, after a minute, and David snorts.

“I’m not giving you a high five,” he says, when Jake raises his hand expectantly.

“That was awesome,” Jake says. “And you deserve a high five. Let’s go, David, high five.”

David rolls his eyes, but when Jake doesn’t show any sign of lowering his arm, reaches out and slaps Jake’s palm lightly.

“Good man,” Jake says.

“You’re an idiot,” David says, and it doesn’t come out as anything other than affectionate.

David drags himself out of bed after a few minutes, trying to right himself, wrinkling his nose at his t-shirt, sweaty and filthy, lube and come drying on the hem. 

“Borrow one of mine,” Jake says, and David goes to the drawers, finds one for their training camp, no different than David’s, just a size larger, and better than taking one branded with a team that isn’t his, or some plain one that might be one of Jake’s favourites, for all David knows.

He tugs his shirt over his head, replaces it with the near perfect match. When he turns around, Jake’s watching him, still in only a t-shirt, legs spread unashamedly. 

“Don’t know how I’ll get this back to you,” David says, uncomfortable.

“Keep it,” Jake says. “We got a bunch. Hell, leave yours here, we can swap.”

David squeezes the shirt in his hands, then goes over to the hamper, puts it inside. 

“I need to go back and pack,” he says, still looking into the hamper.

“Yeah,” Jake says. “I figured. C’mere.”

David turns, walks back to the bed, and then when Jake reaches out, perches on the edge, lets himself be drawn into a kiss, bracing his hand on the warmth of Jake’s bare thigh.

“Gonna text you,” Jake mumbles, when David pulls back. “You better text back.”

“Okay,” David says, tucks a strand of Jake’s hair, fallen into his eyes, behind his ear. 

“Walk you to the door?” Jake asks.

“Nah,” David says. “You’d have to put pants on.”

“Nu uh,” Jake says. “Give everyone a show.”

David snorts, pulls back. “I’ve got to go,” he says.

“I know,” Jake says. 

“I’ve really--” David starts.

“I know,” Jake repeats. “Enjoy New York.”

“Enjoy Detroit,” David says, sceptically, and Jake laughs, shoves at him.

“Get out of here, Chapman,” Jake says, a smile tucked around the corner of his mouth, and David does.

*

David gets into New York at five the next evening, phone buzzing in his pocket when he waits at baggage claim. _home sweet home!_ he gets, followed by _you get to nyc safe? :)_ . 

_Yeah_ , he sends back, tucks his phone back into his pocket, keeping his eye out for his suitcase. His phone buzzes again, and he doesn’t pull it out until he’s in the back of a cab, headed to his apartment.

 _see you in october :)_ , it reads, _or maybe sooner!_ , and David doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just puts his phone away and watches the city streets, half-familiar, as he crawls through traffic on his way to what’s become home.


End file.
